


Dirty Laundry

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Improv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-08
Updated: 2003-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A ruined shirt brings about some interesting revelations.





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

It wasn’t that I didn’t think that Justin and I were headed anywhere because I- well, let’s just say that I was warming up to the idea that maybe, just maybe Justin and I were going to last. Perhaps we were a sure thing after all.

But then he brought my shirt back.

My shirt was white. I had been at Justin’s apartment for dinner, which was always an ordeal. It would be hot and sticky and stuffy from the cooking that had been done coupled with the building’s severe lack of good air circulation. Not to mention that the place was crammed from floor to ceiling with all of Justin’s junk. It was just...small in there and all the while I’d be wishing we were just back at the loft where we could be comfortable. But I never said anything; I wanted to make Justin feel like I regarded him as my equal. Because I did...most of the time. There were moments, usually late at night or early in the morning or whatever you want to call it, moments when I couldn’t sleep and I’d find myself looking over at an unconscious Justin and wondering what the hell I was doing ruining this boy’s life. But those thoughts occurred less frequently now. Or else, I just became better at keeping them hidden from myself.

But the shirt, yes, the shirt.

Dinner at Justin's had been some sort of pasta with the most delicious rosé sauce. In a rare moment of classlessness, I managed to spill the sauce all over my white shirt. My brand-new-white-button-down Hermès shirt. I wanted to die, but Justin insisted that he knew just how to get the stain out. I had little effort to argue in such a small, stuffy, confined room. So I just took my shirt off to leave it with him. Justin gave me one of his to change into. I looked like an ass in it, but I was certain that I wouldn’t be wearing it for long.

I had forgotten about the white shirt – I think I was trying to suppress the memory of it. But then Justin brought it back for me. He came into the loft holding a plastic bag.

“I...uh...washed your shirt for you.” He gestured to the bag.

I looked up from the magazine I was reading while sprawled across the couch. “Huh?”

“You’re shirt. The one with the rosé sauce. I washed it for you.”

“Oh. Oh yeah, thanks. You can just put it over there, I’ll put it away later.”

“I ruined it.”

“Huh?”

Justin pulled the shirt out of the bag and I fought the urge to laugh. “I...uh...accidentally mixed it in with one of my shirts.”

I nodded my head and kept trying not to laugh. Justin seemed very distraught about the whole incident. “It’s, uh, pink.” I offered.

“No, not pink.” He started. “It’s more of an orange, and you look great in orange.”

“Justin, number one, it’s pink. Number two, nobody looks great in orange.”

“Then...you look great in pink?” And I couldn’t control the laughter any longer. Justin’s eyes narrowed. “Brian, what are you laughing at?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Don’t...don’t worry about the shirt. It’s not a big deal.”

Justin still looked uneasy, like it was his expectation that I would be angry and he couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. And now I was laughing. I think he thought I was crazy. And the truth is, I wasn’t sure why I was laughing either. That shirt cost me more than Justin’s life. But it was cute that he was upset about it. Yeah, but that wasn’t entirely it.

Somehow, for some reason, that’s when it hit me. When Justin brought the shirt back, it hit me that I actually really wanted him to be around. I wanted us to be a sure thing. And I wasn’t really concerned with who knew it. Except that I wanted to make sure Justin knew it, of course.

“Sit down.” I told him and he wearily did as I moved my legs so to ensure that he could. “Thanks for washing my shirt.”

Now Justin really thought I was crazy. “But I...I ruined it.”

“I know. And I don’t care. I can live with it. I can live with a ruined white – now orange – shirt. As long as you did it.”

“Brian?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

I laughed. “So you ruined my shirt, so what?”

“So nothing I guess.”

“Yeah, so nothing. Just promise me that when you’re washing my shirts in twenty years that you’ll double check to see what’s in the load.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “Or you could wash your own shirts.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“In twenty years, huh?”

I nodded. “Yeah, in twenty years.”

Justin sighed and stood up. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Huh?”

“The one you wore home from my place. I’m going to take it home with me to wash. I’m afraid you’re going to extract some revenge.”

I smiled. “Justin, the two pieces of clothing are not comparable.” Justin stuck his tongue out at me. “It’s in the bedroom.”

Justin went to retrieve it and then walked towards the door. “You’re a strange man, Brian Kinney.”

“Oh yeah? How so?” I asked focusing back on my magazine.

“You pick a hell of a time to pledge your commitment.”

“Thanks for washing my shirt, Justin.”

Another sigh. “See you later, Bri.”

And then he was gone. But not, I was certain, for long.


End file.
